


Burnin' Down the House

by mrwonderwoman (fem_castielnovak)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: I definitely want that to be a more popular trope, Love Confessions, M/M, Morning After, Recruitment, Second Kiss, Strike Team Delta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/mrwonderwoman
Summary: Fic where Phil and Clint end up getting together after Clint comes back from "trying" to recruit one of his targets.And Phil doesn't know he's succeeded until the next morning when he wakes up smiling and finds Clint looking at him, expression deep and thoughtful as he searches Phil's face and asks "you're really not mad at me for bringing the Black Widow in?"





	Burnin' Down the House

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, this ended up being about twice as long as I intended.

 

 

Clint has been sitting perched on the railing of Coulson’s fire escape for close to ten minutes. He knows that he should probably move soon – he’s not likely to be noticed but it’s raining and Natasha’s probably getting antsy having to crouch uncomfortably out of the way in an unsecured location, let alone a wet, New York alleyway.

He takes a deep breath and blows out a sigh. Coulson hasn’t walked through his living room yet and Clint doesn’t want to enter without Phil having visuals on him playing intruder. Normally it wouldn’t matter. Normally, Clint would sneak his way in, reset the security system, and pick out something from Phil’s DVR to watch until Phil came out from the back to take a break and bitch at Clint about spoilers. But normally, Clint isn’t showing up with his target alive and along for the ride, after going rogue two weeks ago.

Clint wipes the accumulated rain water from his eyes. The apartment doesn’t look completely dark or recently unlived in but there’s also still no sign of movement from within. He exhales another agitated breath; _shit_. They’d gone to SHIELD first – crawled through the vents to Phil’s office together, but it had been dark and cold and empty, and there’d been a stack of paperwork the size of a textbook in his inbox. So they’d come here, because Clint wanted to turn the both of them in to Phil, not whoever happened to be manning the desk this evening. Which maybe wasn’t showing Natasha the best faith in the organization he was trying to get her to work for, but Phil would protect them – there wasn’t a doubt in Clint’s mind about that, and Natasha needed to know where to put her trust.

However, the fact still remains that at the moment, they’re on the lam with only the weakest of safety nets unless Phil shows up soon. _Fuck_ , he should have fucking just stayed at SHIELD; he probably could have gotten Sitwell or Maria Hill to listen if he’d found and managed to get the jump on them. But he doesn’t even know if they were on base tonight. Jesus, he’s gotta work on his planning skills. He can never put Natasha or himself in jeopardy this carelessly again. Maybe if he goes back to HQ now –

Phil finally comes out of the hallway into the main space of the living room. Clint ducks his head and breathes, letting relief wash over him – the first emotional break he’s had since he got his last assignment. He looks over his shoulder down towards Natasha’s hiding place and flashes five fingers at her twice – she can come up in ten minutes. Hopefully that’ll either be enough time to explain everything or figure out an escape plan. At least he’ll learn the lay of the land and what SHIELD might have in store for him. He turns back around and crawls forward, rapping twice on the glass pane.

Phil doesn’t look startled when he turns to face the window, but his hand brushes against an end table as he approaches and Clint knows he’s subtly acquired a weapon. He holds his own hands up in open surrender, even though it’s just a gesture since Phil knows he’s a threat, armed or not.

Phil throws up the sash, “Clint,” he says, warmth and worry coloring his voice and Clint’s insides melt. Phil reaches out a hand and Clint takes it, accepting it as permission to come in and using the grip to steady himself as he crosses the sill. He dismounts gracefully but stumbles forward as Phil unexpectedly reels him into a hug.

“Thank God you’re alright,” he breathes against the side of Clint’s head. Clint is quick to wrap himself right back around Phil, taking the liberty of burying his face into the side of Phil’s neck.

“I didn’t get the alert that you’d come back in,” Phil tells him, preserving his hold.

“Because I came to you first,” he says, working to not sound sheepish.

Phil separates their bodies just enough to look at him head on, “Clint-“

“I _know_ , but I had no idea who was on duty tonight and I wasn’t going to fall on any swords just to stick to protocol.” Phil’s wearing the tiniest of frowns in the corners of his mouth but he isn’t saying anything to contest Clint’s decision. “Was there- was anyone sent out after me?”

“No,” Phil tells him with a gravity that speaks to the unsaid parts of Clint’s question – like whether or not there’s a target on his back or if he’s endangering Phil by being here. “Not that I know of. Granted, considering who we’re talking about there might be multiple agents if not teams on the ground in Serbia specifically for you. But as far as I’m aware, I’ve convinced Fury and Hill to just use facial recognition software and remote tracking methods.”

“What did Agent Somers have to say about that?”

Phil’s expression clouds immediately. Somers had been Clint’s handler for this op. And while Phil had wanted to be there as backup and because, again, Clint has major trust issues, it was something that on paper, seemed excessive and unjustified. Somers was the expert on the Black Widow, exceeded in knowledge only by Jasper Sitwell. But Somers had been actively tracking her for two years and Jasper was away on his own mission in South America when the new intel had come in two and a half weeks ago. So Somers was the one selected to be in charge of the operation.

“She didn’t agree,” Phil says, stern expression firmly in place. “In fact,” the firm set of his features melts into something resigned, and his voice takes on a confessory tone, “Our disagreement may have been somewhat public and also reached the point where Agent Somers raised her voice at me.”

“Agent Somers raised her voice?”  
If Clint sounds a little incredulous, it’s because Agent Somers is about as likely to get into a shouting match as Coulson is.

“Slightly. And publicly enough to get her sent home on disciplinary leave. After losing control of the op, it was the proverbial straw for her.”

“What the hell were you arguing about?”

Phil doesn’t try to defend himself which only makes the matter more incriminating, “She had some critiques about your behavior - more than the situation warranted – and she directed them at me, because she also had some choice insults about what she thinks I let you get away with.”

Which would be everything, if Clint’s reading between the lines correctly – no one other than Coulson seems to be able to see the reasoning he usually has behind the wild shit he does. Still, Clint doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

“I tried to keep it private and conversational, but she didn’t appreciate me asking about what exactly had happened on the op that wasn’t included in the report, or the thinly veiled implications behind that question. Which is why I’m here; after being consulted for my insight, I was asked to go home and temporarily refrain from working overtime because I had been an instigator.” At Clint’s skeptical expression, he adds, “I followed her out of my office and into the hall when she wouldn’t answer my questions.”

That explains the pile of paperwork at least.  
“So I guess that means you’re out of the loop now.”

“I’m supposed to go back into work without limitations tomorrow, but yes, unless you show up on the radar and they need help with negotiations or something, I’m out of the loop.”

“Well, uh, if you’re being kept in the dark, then you’re not responsible for resources currently being wasted on efforts to locate me, yeah? So, so we don’t have to go in right away, do we?”  
He and Natasha both need rest, and Clint has found that people are more rational, less panicky, and much nicer about interrogations and forgiveness in the daytime.

Phil looks him over and Clint knows he’s weighing the options which makes him infinitely more grateful when Phil nods his head.  

“Good. Good,” he nods to himself a little, decompressing. This feels safe; there’s not a doubt in his mind that Phil -

“I thought you might be dead.”

They’ve gradually drifted apart over the course of the conversation but Clint edges closer at that blunt statement, “What?”

“Until about five minutes ago, I honestly thought that you might already be dead.”

Clint feels his own expression pull, “Did they cut your clearance?”

Phil shakes his head, “That’s just it, after you went off comms, nobody had anything on you. Not us, not affiliate agencies. You’d fallen off the face of the planet.”

Clint puts the pieces together, “And if anyone could make that happen it would be the Black Widow.” Phil nods. “Jesus,” Clint ducks his head, because he  _had_ known what going off the reservation would mean on a personal level. Though he can’t help being a little proud of himself; their relative disappearance speaks to both his and Natasha’s abilities. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s good for more than just his aim. But he pulls out of his reverie because now is not the time. There’s only silence from his handler and it’s beginning to get unnerving. He won’t apologize – he knows that he made the right choice, did the right thing, but Phil deserves eye-contact and some explanation, so Clint makes the effort; “I don’t know how-“

“Clint,” Phil seems like he’s pained, or on the edge of something, and rarely will he interrupt Clint saying his piece. “Clint, I want to hear every detail later,” his hand firms up where it rests just under Clint’s shoulder blades, “but I don’t think I can go another moment without saying that I love you.” Clint can’t breathe. One of Phil’s hands comes up to cup the side of his face, “Because I almost didn’t get to, and you deserve-“ Phil falters, his eyes searching Clint’s, “I want you to- … You shouldn’t ever- …”

Clint lets the hesitation hang just for a moment, in case Phil manages to find his words, and then he leans in. There are a lot of firsts about tonight, but the only thing that’s managed to set his heart racing is stealing the second kiss he never thought he’d get to have.

It’s meant to be soft and placating but Christ, Clint almost wasn’t sure this would ever be allowed for him. Phil’s meeting him measure for measure and Clint can’t quite bring himself to stop. This is Phil being _impulsive_ because of him; Clint’s making him feel that way and it’s bringing them together and he’s getting what he’s wanted for so long – what he wanted the whole time he was off doing the right thing, and escaping with Natasha.

And then they’re moving. He expects to be pushed up against a wall and ravaged, but instead Phil’s walking him backwards towards the hall. Briefly, Clint’s stomach bottoms out – he relives the fear of leaning in to kiss Phil that first time nearly a whole month ago in a noisy airplane hangar, where he’d had a built in escape and no time or privacy to let things linger beyond the four long seconds that their lips touched and the moment he’d taken to bump their foreheads together and look into Phil’s eyes with unwavering intent. And then he’s back in reality where Phil’s pulling him through his bedroom door and they’re falling down onto the bed in a warm, excited tangle of limbs …

 

>>>\-------------------->

 

Phil wakes with a smile already spreading across his face. He takes a deep breath and tightens his grip around Clint’s waist, pulls their bodies into further contact. He blinks his eyes open – the room is a fuzzy, pale blue – beautiful and bright even in the early morning. And Clint. Clint is soft and relaxed – borderline cherubic – in the way only really deep, good sleep ever seems to make him. Phil leans in to press a kiss to his forehead, but Clint remains dead to the world. His smile widens impossibly as he brushes Clint’s bangs back off his forehead.

The sheet slips off his shoulder as he sits up. The air outside the covers is chilly in contrast with their shared body heat, and as nice as it would be to curl back up and preserve that warmth, he knows he’ll get restless soon when he isn’t able to go back to sleep. And it would very much appear that he’s on his own for the time being.

He climbs out of bed, unconcerned with disturbing his bedmate, but tucking the sheets back up around him to make up for his absence. He puts on a clean undershirt and some loose sweatpants to fend off the cool air, then scoops up last night’s clothes from the floor and dumps them in the hamper on his way out the door.

Something feels a little off as he heads to the kitchen, but it’s only once he’s reached the end of the hall that he figures out what’s wrong - or rather, where the issue confronts him.  
An impossibly young-looking, waifish, redhead sits on the far end of his couch. She’s got her legs tucked up against her chest – which only serves to make her look younger – and one hand wrapped around them; the other hand holds his TV remote and she seems to be hopping aimlessly through channels. What strikes Phil as strangest about the setting is that the television is on mute.

She makes eye contact and puts a pause to her clicking when he stops in the entryway.

“I’m with him,” she says in a quiet, smoky voice.

Phil stares at her. She blinks at Phil, then diverts her attention back to the television. None of Phil’s danger-senses are going off, although she definitely holds an air of danger. For another moment he watches her, but then just decides to go into the kitchen and get on with cooking breakfast. He starts the coffee maker and whips up some scrambled eggs and bacon in the time it takes for carafe to fill.

The girl wanders noiselessly into the kitchen just as Phil begins setting out the makings for pancakes. She carefully pulls out a chair and tucks herself up in it, sitting eerily still and watching Phil as he stirs in ingredients.

“There’s bacon and eggs ready,” he says over his shoulder, “I was going to put them in the oven to keep warm but you’re more than welcome to some now.”

“Please,” she says. And Phil serves some onto one of the plates he has waiting on the counter.

“There’s coffee, too,” he says as he sets the dish in front of her, but she shakes her head and delicately picks up the silverware before digging in. She seems positively ravenous, and Phil lets her have a moment to enjoy the hot, filling food.

“I don’t have any fresh fruit at the moment, but do you like chocolate chips in your pancakes?”

She shrugs and continues plowing through the contents of her plate. Phil takes it to mean that she either doesn’t know or doesn’t care, but he decides to make the first few without any additives in case she turns out to have a preference.

He’s just finished the second batch when he realizes that he can no longer hear the scrape of silverware against ceramic. He dollops some batter onto the pan then takes the plate of finished pancakes over to the table.

“If you’d like, you can have more bacon and eggs, too,” he tells her as he serves one plain pancake and one chocolate chip one onto her plate. She makes eye contact as she reaches for the serving utensils and plates some more of the offered food. Phil turns back to the stove.

“You’re a good cook,” she says after a moment, through what sounds like a full mouth.

“Well thank you, but this exactly the extent of my ability. On a good day, I can make pasta, but I’m better off with microwave meals and take out.”

She nods, looking down at her plate and shoveling another bite into her mouth, “Clint would enjoy teaching you. If you asked him.”

Phil nods a little, “That’s not a bad idea.”

The girl goes back to quietly wolfing down her food as Phil finishes cooking the rest of the pancake batter. He dumps the dirty dishes in the sink and wipes his hands before pouring a full mug of coffee to take as a means for luring Clint out of bed. He only hesitates a moment before leaving the girl alone in his kitchen – if she hasn’t done anything at this point she’s unlikely to do anything now.

When Phil gets back to his room, Clint is awake, body twisted, arms stretched and crossed above his head with the sheets pooled at his hips. He blinks slowly and yawns as Phil crosses the room. Phil sets the mug down on the nightstand and crawls up onto the bed, over top of him. Clint bites his lip and brings his arms up around Phil’s neck.

“Good morning,” Phil says quietly, smile widening until he tames it enough to lean in for a long good morning kiss. Clint looks pleased and a little dazed when Phil pulls back. But a hard, thoughtful sort of expression slides into place after a moment. Phil doesn’t even have time to say anything before Clint’s asking, “You’re really not mad at me for bringing the Black Widow in?”

That startles Phil into confusion and he begins rapidly reprocessing the past twenty-four hours for something he missed, “What?” is all he can say when he comes up blank.

“I don’t think you’ve actually said anything about it. And I, you know, I appreciate how amazing you’re being considering … all of it. But also, I broke a shitton of rules, and it’s a lot to ask and I want to make sure you’re okay with it. Like, really okay with it and with me. I mean, not that there’s a lot we can do at this point if you _aren’t_ okay with it.” He pauses but Phil doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. A sort of smile flickers across Clint’s face, “I guess I should thank you, too,” he says, and Phil sees the moment that concern edges in, “Do- do you actually have a plan? For like, what we should do now?”

Phil gapes at him a little, “I’m sorry but did you just say that you brought the Black Widow in?”

The worry slips away but Clint frowns a little, “That was what last night was about – the sneaking up the fire escape and needing a place for refuge until we could go to headquarters in broad daylight. I wasn’t just gonna walk the two of us in through the front doors of the agency without my white knight to protect me.” Clint leans up and pulls Phil down to start kissing at his neck.

Phil is left staring at the creases of the pillowcase and the freckles on Clint’s shoulder as he puzzles through this new information.

“Phil?”

Phil leans back to get a good look at Clint’s face.

“Did I just feed the Black Widow chocolate chip pancakes?” Phil watches as Clint’s face becomes a mix of surprise and delight and something akin to awe. “Are you telling me that I was just making small talk with a Red Room operative?”

“Um, I mean, probably. Unless there’s another mean looking redhead sharing your apartment that I don’t know about.” He laughs quietly but Phil is searching his face and waiting for Clint to tell him he’s joking. “Phil? You okay?”

He stares at him a moment longer, mouth falling a little open like he wants to try and say something, then shaking his head, “I’m sorry but I’m struggling with the idea that what might be the world’s best assassin still has baby fat on her cheeks.”

Cling laughs outright, eyes crinkling and teeth all showing. And then Phil freezes.

“I just left a foreign agent alone in my kitchen,” fear doesn’t have time to ice over his skin – “She said she was with you-“

“Uh, yeah, Phil. Jeeze, how much of last night do you remember?”

Phil blanks for a moment because yeah, he’s definitely missing something here.  
“I- well, everything, except, apparently the part where you told me that you’d brought home the last person you’d been assigned to take out.” Clint’s expression drops into sudden confusion. “Which is surprising,” Phil says with a twisted sort of smile, “since that tends to be the sort of thing to stick out in a memory.”

“What do you mean I didn’t tell you?”

“I mean that you didn’t tell me,” Phil says, amusement building over his mild concern as he watches Clint mentally go over the events of last night.

“No, no, I definitely – “ he pauses, eyes scanning Phil’s face like maybe he thinks he’s being teased. Then he blinks rapidly and his mouth falls open into the cutest, surprised ‘O’-shape. “Holy shit,” Clint grabs Phil’s bicep, “holy shit I didn’t tell you I was bringing a Russian spy into your home. Oh, shit, fucking-“

“Clint, Clint, it’s alright,” he cups Clint’s face with one palm, “Nothing bad happened. Everything’s under control.” The panic doesn’t seem to subside, but it doesn’t seem to keep growing, either.

“I’m so sorry, Phil, oh my God, I swear, I thought I told you. I was only – Oh my god, I wasn’t trying to pull one over on you, or distract you, or, or-“

"I'm fairly sure I was the one who interrupted you trying to tell me what happened. And if anyone was doing the distracting last night, it was me - love confessions don't exactly inspire focus."

For some reason, that makes Clint blush, “Jesus,” he covers his face with one hand, “This was not how I intended to spend the first Morning After with you.” 

Phil can hear the capitals on that. 

“I don’t know,” he says, “I’m enjoying it so far.”  
Except for the part where he was left floundering because he didn’t have all the information and its reveal almost gave him a heart attack. But Clint seems to need reassurance right now and that isn’t costing Phil anything. He leans down and starts kissing at Clint’s neck.

Clint groans, “Too much has happened for me not have had any coffee yet.”

“That’s what’s on the nightstand,” Phil mumbles against his throat, “I figured you might need a bit of motivation to get up. And God knows I’m not going to try very hard to make you leave my bed.”

Clint whines a little, keeping his hand over his face but tipping his head back and bringing his other arm to wrap up across Phil’s shoulders.

“There’s eggs,” kiss, “and pancakes,” kiss, “and bacon cooked, too if-“

“Not if you left Nat in there by herself there’s not.”

“Have a little faith,” Phil says, smile creeping up. “But if there isn’t,” he noses at Clint’s hand until slowly it starts to move away from his face, “then I’ll cook you some more.” He kisses Clint’s cheek and leans back, “Sound good?”

Clint nods.

“Think you can get up now?”  
Phil really is a little nervous about leaving the Black Widow unattended for too long. Mostly, because he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to interact with her or what the day is going to bring now that she’s personally entered his sphere of existence on Clint’s coattails.

Clint nods again and Phil scoots back so that he has room to sit up. He reaches for the coffee mug and passes it over to Clint’s waiting hands. He hums warmly and his eyes flutter closed as he takes the first sip. Phil can’t wait to find out if that’s an everyday occurrence, and what other circumstances might make Clint exhibit that reaction.

Phil gets up off the bed and finds him the last pair of sweatpants he owns, and is both elated and embarrassed to find out that they have a mutual clothes-sharing fixation. Clint, of course, calls it a kink and palms himself a little, just for show. Phil laughs softly and tells him to behave.

Clint pinches the hem of Phil’s shirt as they trail back down the hall. There’s no building sense of apprehension as they amble back in. Natasha looks to be on her third plate of food and Phil considers how long she might’ve recently gone without a proper meal.

“Morning, Nat,” Clint says through a yawn.

Phil checks the clock and realizes it’s 6:20 am – he and Clint only got about four hours of sleep last night. He wonders if their guest got any at all.

Clint puts his mug on the table in the seat next to the Black Widow’s and goes over to start rummaging around in Phil’s pantry. Phil takes the extra plates and silverware and sets them out on the table before fixing himself some coffee. As he serves himself, Clint fills a cup with water and then nukes it in the microwave before going back to the pantry. He fiddles around until he comes up with some tea packets and sugar, and Phil watches as he carefully doctors it.

When he’s done, he sets the cup down in front of Natasha, “I’m sorry I forgot about making sure you were good with everything,” he sounds genuinely penitent and Phil is sure that he’s feeling a fair amount of guilt. “I got distracted by sex and my brain went into safety-mode because we were here at Phil’s place.” He plants a kiss on top of her head and sits down at his place setting.

“It’s alright, I understand,” Natasha says demurely over the lip of her cup. Which sounds like a fairly polite response on the surface to Phil, but it makes Clint doubletake.

“Jesus, Nat,” Clint’s tone is caught between offended and exasperated, “It’s not like that.” Clint side-eyes him and then Phil understands the implications.

He pulls out the chair beside Clint’s and takes a sip from his mug, “Ms. Romanova, I’m not sure how much my word is worth to you at the moment, but I can assure you that I personally do not operate in that manner, and neither does our organization.”

“If Clint says it’s worth something, it’s worth something,” she tells him, but in a way that makes Phil feel like he’s got to prove himself despite the lack of derision or any obvious emotion in her tone. She takes another chocolate chip pancake from the serving plate.

“So, uh, you never answered my question earlier,” Clint says, cutting into his own food, “What’s the plan, boss?”

“Although I know how much you love a good parade,” he says for Clint’s benefit and maybe a little to present the reality of their closeness for Natasha, “I was thinking that quiet diplomacy would be the best route. We should leave for headquarters soon and wait on Fury in his office.”

“Oh, so you’re in the mood for some gloating, then.” He manages to look smug as he takes a bite of his eggs.

“A personal appeal and a rational series of reasonings behind closed doors are going to be far more effective than turning the two of you over for general induction and interrogation,” he says and then, because he’s trying not to put up a front adds, “but I can’t say that it won’t be satisfying.”

Clint grins at him and shovels another piece of pancake in his mouth, then groans, “Ugh, Phil, these are so good.”

“ _He liked it earlier, when I told him he should ask you about teaching him to cook_ ,” Natasha says in Russian, “ _But maybe you should just be his pillow-princess and have him make you breakfast for every meal._ ”

Clint blushes and puts a hand over his eyes, “Phil speaks Russian, _Natalia_.” Honestly, Phil is surprised that he was embarrassed by that remark. “And like seven other languages, so maybe take a minute to figure those out before you start teasing me uncensored.”

“ _Don’t mind me,_ ” Phil says in Mandarin. “ _It doesn’t sound like a half bad idea_ ,” he tells her in Arabic, which makes Clint’s blush deepen even as he comes out from behind his hand. “ _Although I’d very much miss his secret recipe for_ goulash,” he adds in Hindi.

“That’s only three,” Natasha isn’t emoting much at all but there’s a lilt to her voice that gives Phil a strange sense of accomplishment.

Phil shrugs, “I’ve got to leave a little mystery for later.”

Natasha grins at him with a tempered spikiness and finishes cleaning her plate. Phil smiles back with mostly polite warmth and takes the last pancake for himself. He glances over at Clint who is no longer pink-faced but is now shaking his head.

“I knew introducing you guys was gonna be trouble.”

Phil just shrugs and offers a bite off his fork as a concession.

 

>>>\-------------------->

 

When the director finally comes into his office that morning at the late, late hour of 7:22am, the three of them have only been waiting for ten minutes. Despite how overachieving everyone in SHIELD is notorious for being, most people don’t get in until morning shift starts at 8am, and thus there was no one to stop Coulson from using his security code to barge right on in to his boss’s office. This was only unusual because normally, Phil has to put up a token fight with one assistant or another to get an audience.

Clint had insisted that he and Natasha should sneak in through the vents so that no one would catch wind of him being back until everything had been sorted out with Fury. Phil hadn’t seen any reason to object. And now, here they are.

“Good morning, Nick,” Phil says, leaning casually against the front edge of the director’s desk with his arms folded over his chest.

“Morning, Phil,” he responds breezing in and not seeming to take note of the two renegades seated on his couch. “You’re here early. Catch any worms?” he asks without a hint of irony – further illuminating his uncharacteristic lack of awareness.

“He sure did, sir,” Clint pipes up, perky, and easily breaking the air of stealth that he and Natasha have cloaked themselves with.

Fury freezes mid-step beside his desk, still facing the back wall of his office. Phil glances first at Clint and Natasha, and then turns to look over his shoulder at Nick.

“Hey, Cheese,” Nick says calmly in an odd amalgamation of his Director Voice and his Marcus Voice, “Under what circumstances would you bring a rogue agent into our facility and into my office where I’ve got top secret files laying around,” he sets down his heavy black coffee mug with the SHIELD logo on it, “instead of putting him into a holding cell as soon as he was in your custody?”

“Under circumstances where abandoning his post proved to be a prudent decision, and where he’s since returned with an incredibly valuable asset in tow.”

Fury seems to coil up, “If I turn around and the Black Widow isn’t _right there_ next to your smartass pet-“

“She is,” Natasha interjects. Which surprises Phil – for some reason he’d been under the impression that she’d play the part of mostly quiet observer, possibly cataloging their personalities and their interactions until she’d totally figured them out.

Fury turns around to face them – he looks dignified and his coat flutters just the way Phil knows that he loves it to.

“Welcome to SHIELD,” Fury says, a little sarcastic. “Should I be sounding alarms and summoning armed guards?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Phil gave us the impression that we could work things through without involving handcuffs or holding cells.”

Fury turns and raises an eyebrow at Phil, but Phil doesn’t flinch because suddenly he’s on a first name basis with the Black Widow. Fury turns back to the other two.

“That’s a very sweet sentiment, but it’s not exactly his call to make.”

“The other means of doing this seem sort of complicated,” Clint says, narrowing his eyes like he’s actually putting some deep analysis into this, “There’s a lot less paperwork if you do it his way.”

Fury takes another moment to glare at Phil, like Clint speaking is his fault, “There’s always less paperwork if I do it Coulson’s way; Coulson hates paperwork.”

Phil shrugs, “Like I said, Clint was justified in following his instincts and leaving his post. We train our agents to spot opportunities and use them for our advantage. It’s what separates us from the drones at the CIA.”

“Well I’m glad you’ve come up with some actual reasons,” Nick says with derision, “For a second there I was worried we had a case of outright favoritism and borderline nepotism on our hands.”

“I wouldn’t disqualify those concerns just yet,” Clint snarks cheerfully. “But it might take a few months before I can get him to make an honest man out of me and get the nepotism one stick.”

“I give it a week before he starts ring shopping,” Fury gripes, “Now that he’s finally got you on the hook. And it’ll serve you assholes right – the two of you deserve one another.”

“Thank you, Nick,” Phil says, pushing off the desk’s edge to stand upright, “as always, your glowing emotionalism is touching.”

“You people are very sarcastic,” Natasha says without preamble.

Fury just looks at her for a moment and then ducks and shakes his head, “Take ‘em to your office and figure out how we’re gonna induct them, since you’ve obviously got this whole situation in the palm of your hand.” He turns and finishes rounding the side of his desk, “Just get Hill to approve the outline once you’re done.” He picks up his mug and takes a long pull, waiting until Natasha and Clint have stood up before he settles into his own chair.

“Yes, sir, I’ll get right on it.”

“Get the fuck out of my office.”

 

The whole complex is bustling, and work is in full swing by the time they make their exit. Once business gets started here it really gets started, like clockwork – and operations are always in action.

When they turn into the main corridor instead of taking one of the back routes to Phil’s office, Clint sidles up beside him with a sparkling grin, “Aw, sir, gloating _and_ a parade? You’re spoiling me.”

“I think you deserve it – you were quite well behaved in there.”

“You have a very low threshold for him,” Natasha says to Phil and Clint falls back in step with her.

“Nah, I just set the bar way, way low on purpose when I first got here.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Phil says just loud enough for them to hear. They’re gaining notice from their coworkers.

“And you’ll keep telling yourself you’re my Pied Piper? Okay, deal.”

Phil doesn’t respond, instead enjoying the lulls in conversation and the furtive glances that are as close as – oh, nope, never mind; there are some agents who are actually outright gaping. He can feel the excitement radiating off of Clint even though he’s sure his companions are maintaining just as calm of an exterior as he is. Even more so, he can feel the way they’re trailing after them as the wake of people they leave behind adds to the quiet and drains from the room’s general noise level.

Phil notes all the base-security agents on duty tracking them more intently than their other coworkers. Which was to be expected: Nick wasn’t going to let just anyone wander about his operation without supervision. Phil doesn’t count, considering the danger that Natasha poses, and his obvious bias.

When they get to his office, he opens and holds the door for them, following after and letting it fall quietly shut behind him. Clint wastes no time vaulting over Phil’s desk and logging onto his computer to pull up the security feeds from the bullpen. Phil had been sure that this would be his first move and yet he somehow extracts some pride from being right about something so obvious.

Clint’s laugh is almost musical and Phil pushes into his space to get a look at the screen as well. Multiple clusters have formed between the desks and cubicles with a few people running back and forth between the groups. He looks up and sees Natasha observing their amusement with what might be confusion. He motions at her to come closer and when she rounds the desk to stand on Clint’s other side. He wants to point at the screen and say something about this being auspicious of their suddenly conjoined careers, but it’s a little early to be making those blanket statements. Instead, he puts off his paperwork for another minute to stand there, hunched over his computer and the man he loves, and watch along with the most dangerous woman in the world as his coworkers attempt to discern whether or not they should be freaking out.

He's suddenly, shockingly confident that whatever troubles this recruitment causes will be more than worth it in the end.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You've reached the end of the line. Thank you for joining me on another tour of the Marvel Universe. Your attention, in addition to kudos and comments, is appreciated. Please exit safely, and mind the gap.  
> You can find me on tumblr at my [ Marvel blog](http://www.mrwonderwoman.tumblr.com).
> 
> I know that the ending is pretty schmaltzy but I didn't have a lot of ideas for what else to write and I didn't want to make the story unnecessarily longer than it already is.
> 
>  **If you liked this story you may also like:**  
> [SHIELD Has Paperwork for Everything](http://archiveofourown.org/works/462561) by [ scifigrl47](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47)  
> [We'll Always Have Budapest](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12206049) by [ BeneficialAddiction](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneficialAddiction/pseuds/BeneficialAddiction)  
> [Worse for Wear](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3699443) by [ ohdrey89](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdrey89/pseuds/ohdrey89)  
> 


End file.
